


One of Those Days

by Moosey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All the Butt Stuff!, Also fluff, Anal Play, Blink and you'll miss it praise kink, Established Relationship, M/M, No-one is dead here, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top!Stiles, bottom!Derek, deputy!Stiles, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosey/pseuds/Moosey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on Stiles,” Derek growled at him, turning and flashing his blue eyes at Stiles. </p><p>“What do you need?” </p><p>-----</p><p>This is basically porn. Stiles being Stiles, and then all the sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Those Days

**Author's Note:**

> RL sucks at the moment, so I'm writing a ton (yay! Escapism!). This is a happy little porny drabble, because I realised I've never written Bottom!Derek before! Obviously this had to be rectified immediately. 
> 
> Un-beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes or anything. Comments always welcome :) 
> 
> Enjoy <3
> 
> P.S - I'm now on [Tumblr!!](http://plebble-moosey.tumblr.com/)

It had just been _one of those days._

He’d woken up late in spite of his alarm going off, and then his back up alarm going off, because apparently his body decided that nope. Not waking up today. It’s not like he needed to be at work on time or anything.

Except he did.

Because he’s a _responsible_ _adult_ these days, or at least trying to imitate an approximation of one.

Next up he realised he hadn’t ironed his uniform shirt, and he could remember with absolute startling clarity thinking to himself the night prior, “hey, no worries. Tomorrow morning Stiles can deal with that one.”

Last night’s Stiles _sucked_.

When he finally skidded his way in to work, he’d been immediately faced with his dad, or no, not his dad, because his dad was in full on Sheriff mode, giving Stiles that look. Not the slightly amused, exasperated, “what am I going to do with you?” look that had been almost ever-present through Stiles’ adolescence. No, this was the “I’m your boss and I’m not going to go easy on you when you fail to do your job,” look.

“Heyyyyy dad,” Stiles had tried, forcing his limbs to loosen as he bobbed his head on his neck like a turkey.

“No.”

“Look, I can explain-”

“No.”

“It’s just that-”

“No.”

Stiles had sighed and hung his head, lifting his palms in supplication.

“I’m going to guess you forgot,” the Sheriff had said, face blank.

Forgot. What had Stiles forgotten? What was he supposed –

“Oh shit!”

“Language.”

“Oh shoot!” And there was the patented Stilinski dad expression, equal parts incredulity, exasperation, but most importantly, fondness.

“I’m really sorry da- Sheriff. Sheriff Dad. Stilinksi.”

“Greenberg was on standby to set up. You owe him kiddo, and you’d best get moving,” his dad said sternly, pointing a finger at Stiles. He’d been scheduled to set up and take part in the safety awareness day at a local school, representing the Sheriff department, and had _completely_ forgotten.

He gave his dad a sloppy salute and ran out to the squad cars, slipping behind the wheel and wondering what the ramifications of using the sirens to speed up his journey would be. Probably not worth it. Probably.

He’d made it in good time regardless, but over the course of the day he’d been surrounded by hyperactive children, who were way too noisy. How could such little people make so much noise? Boyd was there, with the Beacon Hills fire department, and he clapped Stiles on the shoulder as he tripped past, propelling him to the side with the sheer force of the clap. Boyd was kind of amazing with kids. They climbed all over him, and he just grinned his way through it, lifting his arms so the kids dangled from him. It was kind of adorable, Stiles could admit that much. As long as they were climbing Boyd and not him.

He’d finished up the day with a headache, and realised he’d forgotten his Adderall that morning, and if he drank anymore coffee he was likely going to twitch himself off in to outer space.

He rounded out the afternoon with Greenberg informing him that Stiles could take his place on afternoon traffic duty, and Stiles had somehow gotten elbowed in the face trying to break up a fight between two high-school seniors at a red light, both of them leaving their car doors open and bumping chests in a display of weird male posturing that quickly devolved in to fisticuffs at an intersection.

He’d staunched the blood as best he could, shoving a hankie under his nose and blinking the tears from his eyes, and dragged them both in to the station.

So his face hurt, his headache hadn’t gone away yet, he was tired, and he was pissy, as he let himself in to the house that evening. He was sort of banking on a night of shitty takeout food and even shittier TV.

Stiles had his bloodied shirt over halfway unbuttoned by the time he’d closed the front door and dropped his keys in the bowl, muttering under his breath and kicking off his shoes. It took him longer than he was willing to admit to notice the black boots kicked by the door and the jacket hung on the coat hooks.

He frowned and pushed his shoes over towards the boots, figuring he’d run less risk of tripping over them later if they weren’t right in front of the door, and padded his way in to the house.

“Der?” he called out, frowning. Derek wasn’t due home for another couple of days. Stiles was sure of it. He’d marked it in the calendar, and set a reminder on his phone, but mostly he’d been counting down the days in his head.

There was no reply, so he shrugged out of his shirt and rounded in to the bedroom. And there he was.

Splayed out on his stomach, one bare arm hanging off the bed, was Derek Hale. He had this habit, which Stiles had the immense privilege of witnessing almost daily, of burrowing his head under his pillow when he slept. It had always reminded Stiles of a puppy rooting around in sleep, and the baleful look Derek shot him whenever he said that was one of his favourite things.

Derek was burrowed now, his pillow off kilter on his head, and his body stretched out and lax with sleep but still managing to look ridiculously strong and powerful – a Derek thing, not a wolf thing, because Stiles had shared a bed with Scott enough to know – and so very inviting. Stiles kicked off his pants and dropped them on the floor with his socks and undershirt, and crawled in to the bed, reversing himself in to the hard, warm line of Derek’s body.

He flopped an arm over Stiles waist and dragged him closer, turning his body so he was half-spooning him, and Stiles snuggled back, relaxing for the first time in hours. Maybe days.

“You okay?” Derek asked quietly. “I smell blood.”

“Caught an elbow in the face at work,” Stiles mumbled back. "What are you doing back early?"

“Stiles,” Derek said, slightly chastising, slightly concerned. He began to draw Stiles’ pain, black threads pulsing up his arms.

The feeling made Stiles’ body go lax for a moment, but he swatted Derek’s hand anyway. “No, no. S’kay. Sleep.”  
  
"Missed you," Derek mumbled, breath evening out.  
  
"I missed you too."  

 

***************  


 

He woke up to the sensation of feather light kisses down his spine. There was no other contact but the warmth of lips, and the occasional rasping brush of stubble. It was enough to made his body shiver, his nipples going tight.

“You awake?” Derek asked needlessly, his voice low.

Stiles hummed an affirmative and stretched into the kisses, rolling his hips and arching his spine exaggeratedly, knowing Derek loved the sight of Stiles like this. He was rewarded with a playful little growl, and found himself pinned under Derek’s weight, a mouth hot on the back of his neck.

“I missed you,” Derek said between biting kisses, mapping his way carefully around Stiles’ upper back, nipping his teeth at the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades. It made Stiles wriggle, huffing out a laugh and pressing his ass up against Derek’s hips. Derek made a rumbling sound as his erection pressed firmly against Stiles, and he flexed his hips with a warning bite.

Stiles gasped and pushed back at Derek, creating just enough space for him to turn on to his back. “Hi sleepy-wolf,” Stiles murmured, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

Derek obliged, but only for a moment, pulling back to frown down at Stiles. He brushed his fingertips over Stiles’ nose with a slightly pinched expression.

“How bad is it?”

“Not too bad. Should have put ice on it.”

Stiles grumbled loudly, and pushed his face up in to Derek’s neck, pressing closed mouth kisses on any skin he came in to contact with. Derek huffed a sigh, one of those exaggerated ones that moved his whole torso against Stiles and puffed air over the top of his head.

“Wha-at?” Stiles whined. “I’m an _adult_ , Derek. I can look after myself and make the very grown up and executive decision to not put ice on my hurt face and nap with my sexy-wolf boyfriend instead if I want to.”

Derek huffed again and rolled them, opening his legs so Stiles was slotted between them and pressed against his chest. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

“I was gonna call in for take out. I want pizza. I think I deserve pizza.” Stiles nipped at Derek’s collar bone.

“Have you eaten anything but take-out since I’ve been gone?” Derek asked flatly.

“Yes,” Stiles insisted. “I totally have. Kira and Malia came over and we grilled out. Yummy steaks _and_ lots of healthy salad. And Scotty wanted to test out a lasagne recipe so I helped out and ate that for like two days. Fully functioning adult here buddy,” Stiles stated, punching Derek in the shoulder.

Derek grinned up at him and pulled him in to a kiss, “obviously I underestimated your ability to convince people to feed you." 

“It’s an important life skill Derek,” Stiles agreed solemnly. His stomach growled and he scowled. “My body is trying to thwart my plans Derek,” he whined, resting his forehead on Derek’s chest.

“It’s a hard life.”

“Right?” Stiles enthused. “My plan was to stay in bed and have the sex because it’s been _days_ , and now my stupid body is betraying me and demanding sustenance.”

“You’re nap-drunk and hungry Stiles,” Derek stated, pressing a kiss to his temple before shoving him off. “I’ll call in for pizza, but you have to get your ass out of bed, and make a salad or something. Whatever we have in the crisper should do.”

Derek stood and stretched, lifting up on to his toes and every single muscle from calves to thighs to abdomen and chest flexed and went taut. It was so unfair. Stiles groaned and slung an arm over his eyes dramatically, flopping on to his back. So maybe he _was_ a little nap-drunk, but damn it he felt better than he had in days right now.

Derek threw a pillow at him and strode away to the kitchen, not bothering to pull on clothes as if that was helping Stiles’ predicament. He watched Derek’s ass flex as he walked off, wrapped up in his tight black boxer-briefs, letting out a happy sigh as rolled off the bed to his feet. He dragged on pyjama bottoms and scratched his head absently as he followed in Derek’s footsteps. He’d shoved a pre-bagged salad in the fridge after his grocery shop yesterday, so all he had to do was open a bag to uphold his end of the deal.

They both ended up sprawled on opposite ends of their sofa, eating pizza from the box and occasionally garnishing slices with choice salad leaves.

“How was Cora?” Stiles asked, dangling a slice of pepperoni above his mouth and dropping it in.

“She’s good. She’d been working for a charity in a village down there, doing house construction projects. Turns out werewolf strength makes for awesome construction workers,” Derek grinned. “I helped out some, and it was a lot of fun, plus it’s worthwhile. I met some of her pack, including the guy she’s dating. He seems nice, and they’re having a good time together I think. They laugh a lot. It’s nice.”

“Good. That’s really good.”

“Yeah. She might come for a visit soon, but it’ll take some time for her to get her head around the idea of being back here, even to visit,” Derek shrugged. “She says I seem happy too,” Derek added after a pause.

“Duh. You have a super-awesome, sexy-deputy boyfriend. How could you not be happy?” Stiles grinned around a mouthful of pizza.

“I’m dating a child,” Derek replied flatly, staring at Stiles with a slightly horrified expression.

Stiles swallowed his mouthful of food and rolled over, crawling his way to straddle Derek. “You love me,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to Derek’s jaw. “No take-backs, remember?”

Derek smiled and held Stiles’ hips, sliding a hand round and up his spine. “I do,” he said, burying his face in Stiles’ throat.

“Who knew you’d turn out to be so smart,” Stiles sassed, lifting his jaw and giving Derek more access. Derek’s hands moved to his thighs and gripped, massaging their way up to his ass.

“Are you trying to start something here wolfboy?” Stiles smiled, arching in to the touch of Derek’s mouth on his chest.

“Wolf _man._ And what if I am?” Derek hummed, moving his mouth to Stiles’ nipple, licking a flat tongue over the hardening nub.

“I’m so on board. Ridiculously on board. That’s an amazing plan, maybe the best you’ve ever had,” Stiles nodded, holding on to Derek’s shoulders.

“Glad you approve. Just give me a few?” Derek asked, lifting Stiles and standing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ pouting mouth.

“Fine,” Stiles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, watching Derek walk back to their bedroom. He looked down at his dick, half hard under his sweats and silently apologised to it, and then looked over the detritus from dinner. He shrugged and gathered up the trash, clearing up so the room wouldn’t smell like stale food in the morning. If it was offensive enough to Stiles’ nose, he couldn’t imagine what it would smell like to Derek.

He straightened up the room a little and shoved the mostly full salad bag back in the fridge – he was full of good intentions when it came to eating healthy, but _pizza_ – and grabbed a bottled water, making his way in to the bedroom. He’d waited long enough surely.

He opened the door with a little rap of his knuckles, and promptly dropped the water bottle, narrowly missing his foot.

“Fucking hell Derek,” he hissed, his mouth dropping open and gaping. Derek so rarely did this, and he’d never quite done it like _this_.

Derek had stripped and was lying on his stomach, an echo of how he’d been this evening, but the similarity ended there. His head was turned towards Stiles, with a small smirk on his face, and his legs were slightly splayed, his back arched enough to lift his ass in to the air a little.

And as if that wasn’t enough to have all the blood in Stiles rushing south, Derek's naked ass was framed _beautifully_ with the tell tale elasticated straps of a black jock strap, digging in just enough to highlight how perfectly full and muscular it was.

“Are you even serious right now?” Stiles choked out, stepping closer and kicking the forgotten water bottle. “Really? Holy shit,” he breathed, putting a knee on the mattress and leaning closer, mouth still agape.

Derek subtly pushed his ass up, even as his upper back took on a slightly pink flush, that mix of shyness and arousal that always overcame Derek when he presented himself. "I thought you'd like it."

"I love it Derek. I love _you_."

Stiles placed a hand on one side of Derek’s ass, massaging the firm muscle with his long fingers and pulled his cheek to the side a little, baring him, his thumb dipping perilously close to Derek’s hole. Derek shuddered, pressing himself up in to Stiles’ grip. He was so responsive like this; the first time, Stiles had actually been taken aback, pausing in his tentative ministrations, shocked in to immobility at the way Derek’s whole body shook when Stiles pushed his fingers inside of him. It was almost too beautiful, and Stiles’ chest had ached the whole time at how Derek was letting him see this side of him, trusting Stiles with him.

That feeling never quite went away after that.

Stiles leaned over and pressed a kiss to Derek’s lower spine, working his way up without once removing his mouth from skin, biting and licking intermittently until he found Derek’s mouth for a sloppy kiss. Derek grabbed his hand and pushed a bottle of lube into his palm, wordlessly letting Stiles know exactly what he wanted. Because it was the flavoured kind, and it tasted just like vanilla coffee syrup and it was Stiles’ _favourite._

Stiles groaned and knelt between Derek’s legs, smoothing a hand down his back and gripping his cheek again.

“Fuck Derek, you look-” Stiles stuttered, brushing his dry thumb over Derek’s hole. “I can’t, I don’t-” he made a frustrated little sound, words failing him.

“Stiles,” Derek groused beneath him, pushing his hips up. “Come on.”

If you asked a hundred people, a thousand people, _all the people,_ Stiles was willing to bet that almost every single one of them would guess at Derek being patient (yes, he had to be to put up with Stiles. Shut up), dominant (ex-Alpha, hello), and most definitely a top (because muscles. He looked like a total muscle top). And yeah, he _could_ be all of those things, and often was.

But Derek when he wanted to bottom? He was so fucking needy, and impatient, and hungry for Stiles. Stiles had actually Googled the benefits of cock rings and gone so far as to have one ready to buy in his online basket because he needed all the help he could get to not bust a nut all over Derek’s pretty pink hole when he got like this.

He was regretting not hitting ‘buy’ right about now.

Stiles circled with his thumb, increasing the pressure as Derek arched his back, and leaned forward to blanket Derek’s back with his body. He bit on his earlobe, scraping his teeth on the soft flesh, squeezing his eyes closed as Derek groaned. “I’ve got you,” he hushed, kissing his way back down Derek’s back.

He spread him and laved a hot line over his hole without hesitation, repeating the motions two, three times, getting him good and wet. Derek moaned, stuttering out Stiles’ name when he blew a hot breath over Derek’s hole, watching it clench subtly, the muscles of Derek’s ass flexing under his hands.

“Fuck,” Stiles sighed out reverently. He opened up the lube and drizzled it directly on to Derek, not pausing to warm it first. Derek twitched at the sensation of cold slick and gritted out a few choice expletives at Stiles, but he pushed up his hips, letting Stiles know he enjoyed the sensation.

Stiles buried his face in Derek’s ass, gripping the elastic of the jock, mouthing at him and revelling in sweet syrupy taste of the lube, undercut with the smooth muskiness of Derek’s skin. He tugged Derek’s ass up, not even pausing as he got his knees under him, and wrapped a hand around Derek’s cock where it was nestled full and thick between his legs, held snug by the jockstrap. The sound Derek made was so heartfelt and unrestrained that Stiles had to grip himself too, a tight hold at the base of his dick, just to stop himself from blowing.

He got lost in it; stroking Derek with a slippery hand, tongue dipping in to the tight grip of Derek’s ass. Derek was panting and begging, a litany of pleas and grunts, his thighs trembling as he held himself up. Like when you lean on a nerve and you can’t control the incessant shaking of your muscles.

“Please Stiles, I need more, I need more,” Derek gasped, rocking back against Stiles lips and tongue. Stiles let his iron grip on himself go, and knelt back, slicking up his hands again and just staring at Derek. His ass was high in the air, his head and shoulders pressed against the mattress and the muscles in his back were flexed and a picture of strength. It turned Stiles on beyond belief to have Derek submit like this.

His first finger slipped into Derek so easily, his body welcoming it inside, so Stiles immediately added another, tongue lapping at Derek’s rim whilst he fucked his fingers in and out, scissoring them carefully to open Derek up.

Sometimes he thought there might be nothing better in the whole world than making Derek come apart with just his fingers and mouth. The first time Derek had come untouched from this, Stiles had rutted against the mattress and shot his load all over the bedspread, Derek still clenching around his fingers.

It had been a revelation.

“Come on Stiles,” Derek growled at him, turning and flashing his blue eyes at Stiles.

“What do you need?” Stiles asked, sitting back and watching with rapt eyes as he eased in a third finger. Derek might be impatient, but he could be so shy about actually saying what he wanted. Stiles loved it when Derek was so far gone he couldn’t even manage to be coy anymore.

“Fuck me Stiles, please. I need you in me,” Derek begged, obliging Stiles perfectly.

“Derek, you’re so good. So good for me,” Stiles soothed, pulling his fingers out and watching Derek close up, empty and bereft. Derek whined at him and shoved the jockstrap off, spreading his knees. Being told he was good made Derek needier, determined to please Stiles.

Stiles grabbed for the lube, the better lube, and slicked himself up, drizzling more on Derek too. He got a moan for that, and the moan turned breathless and rasping as Stiles pushed in, watching himself disappear in to Derek, his body almost sucking him in, enveloping him in indescribable heat.

Stiles’ mouth was hanging open, and his fingers were spasming in their hold on Derek’s hips as he bottomed out, seating himself fully inside of Derek.

Derek rolled his hips, immediately fucking himself back on Stiles, not giving him a chance to get used to the tight heat.

“Fuck Derek,” Stiles gritted out.

“Kind of the point Stiles,” Derek snarled, sounding frustrated. “Fucking _do it_.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and pushed down on Derek’s tattoo, holding the larger man down. He slowly rolled his hips, thrusting in and grinding down to get even deeper, punching the breath out of Derek. He kept this up, smirking as Derek’s claws came out and tore in to the pillow under his head.

“Something wrong baby?” Stiles snarked, running his hand up into Derek’s hair and gripping.

“Stiles,” Derek whined, “please.”

He sounded so sincere and broken that Stiles let up, kneeling back on his shins and pulling Derek up into his lap, never quite slipping out. “Come on Derek,” he soothed, sliding his hands around to Derek’s stomach, holding him right to his chest. Stiles mouthed at Derek’s neck, and rolled his hips up, pushing deeper. “You feel so good. So perfect.”

Derek gasped and met him halfway, flexing his thighs and stomach to ride Stiles, his head dropping back on to Stiles’ shoulder. His throat was a long line, and Stiles stroked a sticky hand from the sharp jut of his chin down to his chest, fingers tracing over vulnerable skin as he fucked up in to Derek.

He gripped him then, hand tight around the head of Derek’s cock, and Derek gasped, his eyes flying open. He ground down, his hips making tight circles and keeping Stiles deep inside of him, rhythm faltering when Stiles squeezed tighter, one firm stroke that had Derek coming, stripes of hot come erupting from him and shooting high enough to hit the side of Derek’s neck. Stiles stroked him through it, coaxing as much out of Derek as he could, mouthing at the come that he could reach. He rubbed his thumb over the sensitized slit at the tip of Derek’s cock, and it made Derek shudder, gripping Stiles unbearably tight inside of him.

It was all Stiles needed, and he tipped over the edge, following Derek into the abyss. He shoved as deep as he could get, pulsing and kicking violently enough inside that Derek groaned, likely feeling the heat of Stiles filling him up.

After what felt like an insanely pleasurable eternity, Stiles finally sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, lifting his head from Derek’s neck. “Woah,” he mumbled, trying to move his numb legs. Derek huffed a little sound of agreement and flopped forward, Stiles slipping wetly from inside.

Derek landed on his stomach and snuggled down, making a happy snuffling sound and shoved his face under his pillow.

“Hey,” Stiles swatted his ass, still kneeling. “Don’t even think about it big guy.”

Derek mumbled something muffled and unintelligible, before lifting his head and turning to look at Stiles. His hair was a mess, the pillow was half off his head, and he looked so come-dumb and relaxed.

Stiles gave him a soft smile and crawled clumsily over to kiss him, a series of soft closed mouth kisses that made Derek smile against his mouth and give a contented little rumble.

“Fine, fine. Stay put,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s thigh. "You're lucky I love you so much." He stumbled on shaky legs to the bathroom, ignoring Derek’s snickering, and looked for something that would provide super quick clean up, because uncomfortable stickiness aside? All he wanted, in the whole world, all he could _ever_ need, was lying warm and sated in their bed. Waiting for Stiles.  
  
"Hey Stiles," Derek called sleepily from the bedroom. "Don't forget to ice your face."  
  
_Sonofabitch_. 


End file.
